So What Now?
by Whisper6636
Summary: Title subject to change. When you're stuck in a well with nothing but your thoughts, what do you think about? First fic, ALL feedback appreciated.


After maybe five or six hours, she was just bored.

Yes, her arm still ached, and yeah, she was still a bit scared, but honestly, that had long since faded from her attention as the boredom sat at the forefront of her mind. Really, she had nothing to do but hang here and stare at the grimy wall in front of her. Well, no, she could start screaming again, but that hadn't done any good the first time–and her throat was sore, too, she remembered suddenly–so why bother? At one point she'd even tried climbing out, but that clearly hadn't worked out, only further hurting her arm when she slipped and fell back, hands getting burned by the rope that held her aloft all this time. Oh, yeah, those hurt, too.

At this point she almost didn't care if the rope broke and she fell to a slimy, wet death far below. Or if no one found her and she just rotted here. Or even if some serial killer pulled her up only to plunge a knife into her stomach, anything to alleviate this boredom. ...Except magical singing fairies appearing and doing their thing. That was just...no.

She sighed. She'd never admit to the fact that a moment of clumsiness had landed her here. How could she have known that when she leaned forward to grab the rope, she'd leaned too far and ended up falling in and sliding down the length of the thick twine to where she was now? ...Assuming, of course, that the rope hadn't given a little over the past five or six hours. It didn't matter, really; she was here now.

At least she'd had the presence of mind to tie said rope around her wrist and hand. That saved her a surprising amount of strain.

She'd been terrified at first. Her hands and arms were burned rather severely by the friction, and her shoulders had been screaming after the first few minutes, so that hadn't helped. She'd screamed for help, for anyone to hear, although stopped when she remembered that no one had been up there with her and no one would hear. So she dangled in the darkness, unable to see anything but the daylight above her and reflecting off the slime covering the walls.

Maybe an hour later, she could make out every crack. Seeing it only frightened her further as her vivid imagination went rampant with ideas of how this whole thing could collapse on her, how the rope would snap, how the slime would somehow drip onto her hand and cause it to slip from the knot, even how animated corpses would break through and claw at her with their decaying, acrid hands. None of this made her feel any better, of course, but with nothing better to do she couldn't help it.

Two and a half hours in, she'd started screaming again. As though someone would be near by then. Of course, no one was, and an hour later her throat was hoarse and sore and she could barely manage a squeak.

It was around the fourth hour that she'd grasped the rope as tightly as she could, wound it around one hand and grabbed just above there with the other, and swung toward the wall. She'd planted her feet on it as best she could and tried to pull herself up the rope using the wall for support, but at that point she didn't have nearly enough strength in her muscles and could barely even bend her elbows any more than they were. Then her feet slipped on wet stuff and she fell back, free hand releasing the rope and the other felt like it was being jerked from its socket. Who knew, maybe it was.

And now here she was, just hanging there, the pain having numbed and the fear relieved, leaving her simply bored.

Suddenly she heard a faint drip, the sound of water hitting water, and looked down. For a fraction of a second, she saw a tiny prick of light before hearing another drip. Slowly lifting her free hand to her face, she felt her fingers brush something warm and wet...something like...tears? She was crying...?

Upon the realization that she was, indeed, crying, a sob escaped her lips. Then another, and another, until suddenly they were all running together, pouring out along with the tears, while she hung unable to stop them. She didn't know why she was bawling like this; what gave her the right to cry? That didn't stop them, of course, which kind of ticked her off, and suddenly she was screaming again, her broken voice echoing over the walls, all the loneliness and rage and fear and hate and pain going into each wail. Even if she didn't think a few hours hanging from a rope in a deep, grungy well actually warranted all these feelings, she still felt them, and she didn't know what to do with them but let them out.

The tears ended the same way they began: without her noticing. But once they were gone, the sobs and screams died down until the only thing left were little sniffs, trying to keep that disgusting snot inside her nose. Whoever decided noses should run when tears do? That was stupid. And really gross. Like, seriously, who thought that was a good idea?

Softly, despite the ache in her lungs and throat, she began to sing. Low at first, inaudible, but growing as much as it could, the ache in her heart far more palpable. Some deep thing about loneliness, darkness, hopelessness, all that jazz she had going on at the moment.

So when she started the chorus and heard a second voice, her eyes widened and then snapped shut. No, please, no magical singing fairies. Hadn't she already covered that?

But as the second voice finished the chorus, it died down. She dared to crack open an eye, only for them both to snap open at the sight of a silhouette blocking out some of the sunlight. "Why'd you stop?" it asked in an all-too-familiar voice.

"Yuuma!" she shouted–well, no, more like croaked, but still. "Pull me up!"

Apparently he'd heard, or at least figured she wasn't hanging down there for fun, because he started pulling the rope up. It hurt her arm even more as the pain came rushing back, but it really didn't matter; she was free, and that was all she cared about.

Clearing the top of the well and climbing out, she let her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness–although by now it was late evening and not particularly bright–before untying her hand and lunging at Yuuma in a half hug, her other arm still much too sore to be hugging someone with. "What are you even doing here?" she asked upon pulling away.

"Walking. I heard your singing so I stopped. It was a song I knew, so I joined you." His answer was a bit clipped and his voice monotonous, but she was glad to hear it anyway. Glad to hear anything after that little ordeal. "What were you doing here?" he asked in return, eyes flicking toward the well in the unspoken few words.

"I, uh...I kinda...y'know..." she said, suddenly and uncharacteristically embarrassed.

"You fell in." It wasn't a question.

"...Yeah, okay, I fell." Her voice suddenly took on its old sharpness and confident swagger. "But so what? It's not like—"

He put a hand up, silencing her. "I don't care. You're out now, so we might as well forget what happened here."

She stared at him. "Were you really just here by coincidence, Yuuma?"

"Of course," he replied immediately, robotically, tone not suggesting what she knew to be true: he'd been looking for her.

She smiled, leaning forward to embrace him once more. "Thanks, Yuuma," she whispered. Her face in the crook of his neck, she didn't see when his lips curled in a ghost of a smile, one that disappeared the moment she pulled away.

Suddenly feeling a bit awkward, he touched her shoulder, recoiling when she winced. "We should go back, Lily. You need something for that."

A grin quirked her features as she rolled the shoulder a bit, trying hard not to groan. "Eh, it's fine. No biggie."

He rolled his eyes, just grabbing her hand and pulling her along. "Whatever."

She just smiled as she matched his pace, glad to have someone who cared like this. Someone who was there even when she was alone.


End file.
